[Intermediate Sword] Lessons for the Dead (self-mod)

[Cyrus Marius]

3rd Brightening of the Fifth Cycle in the Month of Junctior in the season of Winter; Era I of the Celestine Mandate, Era XIII Post Fractum.

Cyrus' breath misted in the chill wind of the early morning air, and he pulled the hood of his jade-colored cloak tighter around his face for warmth. He was garbed in little that protected him against the bite of the cold, wearing only his drab, gray-colored manual labor clothing the legion had issued him, the jade cloak that marked him as a recruit, and a pair of black leather boots. His black eyepatch covered the ruin of his left eye, and his black leather sword belt hung around his waist, but it was the wooden training sword that rested at Cyrus' hip.

He had been approached by the Shield Deakin last darkening, as he was completing the night's physical training routine. The man had ordered him to report with his training sword in hand to one of the usually empty assembly halls before the 4th candlemark of the brightening, offering no explanation or reason as to why or what he could expect once he got there. Cyrus did not exactly appreciate the lack of information, but then again, one rarely got explanations for anything as a recruit. It was just generally best to go along with what the officers said.

Upon reaching the building he was told to report to, the young soldier pressed the doors open with a slight creak, and he strode inside. The temperature inside the building felt immensely more comfortable than the morning air, and the first thing Cyrus could see upon entering the hall was that someone had lit several braziers along the perimeter of the room. He glanced around with his good eye, peering into the shadowed corners, but he couldn't see anyone here waiting for him. He took a step forward, when suddenly the door slammed shut behind him.

Cyrus whirled, and came face to face with the point of a wooden training sword, aimed directly at his remaining eye.

"Mon Dieu, please don't tell me this is the one I am supposed to meet here. This can not be a swordsman; this is a dead man."

The young soldier shifted his focus from the sword aimed at him to the man who held it. The figure was leaning casually against the wall near the door, where the door would've hidden him from sight upon being thrust open. He was small statured, middle-aged perhaps and rapier thin, gaunt even, with a hawkish profile and a perfectly bald head. Even his eyebrows were gone. Small gold loops graced his entire left ear, and a prominent scar could be seen on his right cheek. He had a mocking smile on his face, and Cyrus could see the glint of gold from one of the teeth in his mouth.

The man's expression changed suddenly, becomming one of mild surprise and approval. "Well well, perhaps I am mistaken about this dead man. This one seems to have a fighter's eye, I am thinking. It is good that he does, for it is the only one left to him."

The man laughed as Cyrus appraised him, and yet the tip of his sword never even wavered. Angered, the young soldier slapped the wooden blade out of his face and took a step towards the smaller man.

"Deakin Coates told me to report to this building by the 4th candlemark of this brightening, but I don't know why I am here."

The strange man frowned and his eyebrow rose, though his eyes glinted with mischief and mockery.

"Does this dead man often do what someone tells him, without thinking or asking?"

Now Cyrus was beginning to get really annoyed. Just who the hell did this guy think he was?

"I am a soldier, and I follow orders, and I don't have to answer to you. Now, who in Aeternia are you and why were you waiting for me?"

The wooden sword moved faster than Cyrus could have ever believed possible, whistling through the air before he even saw the man make the slightest movement. He smacked Cyrus sharpy on the left ear with the flat of the blade, and the young soldier cried out in anger and surprise. In less than three seconds, the strange man had landed three more strikes with blinding precision, making Cyrus' wrist, stomach and knee throb painfully. Cyrus remained on one knee, head bowed and grimacing from the blows, and he could hear the man tsk'ing above him in a light hearted manner.

"The dead are so rude, are they not? Well, perhaps I would be rude to, if I were not skilled enough to stay alive."

Cyrus drew in a ragged breath, and found he could only gape up at the strange man. He stared at him for a moment, the anger dissapated in his eye after the impressive display of obvious skill, and the man flashed his golden smile once again.

"So the dead want to learn how to stay alive, do they? Well, there is no one better than Jaques Douveau to teach you that, dead man." His eyes flashed mockingly again, "Sword Deakin Jaques Douveau, that is, former fencing instructor of Arx Fidetalis in Carmelyn."

Cyrus could only groan in response.

[Cyrus Marius]

The bald man scoffed dramatically.

"This one even moans like the dead. Tell me, dead man, why do you think they sent you to learn from the great Jaques Douveau?"

Cyrus pushed himself to his feet, still rubbing his ear and glaring at the strange man. He had no idea why he was told to report here, truth be told, and he had never heard of the Sword Deakin before in his life. The man sounded as if he had a Jaedaxian accent, which would make him a natural braggart and windbag, as far as Cyrus was concerned. The young soldier preferred to let his prowess do his speaking for him, but the fencing virtuosos of the jaunty port city were notorious for their loud proclimations of self-worth.

Still, there was no denying that the Deakin used his wooden weapon like a master, and Cyrus was smart enough to recognize true skill when he saw it.

"I don't know, sir."

The man sighed now, in equally overly dramatic fashion.

"Mon Dieu, well, we shall discover it then. Why would they send a dead man to the great Jaques Douveau?" He paused and prodded Cyrus in the chest with the tip of his wooden blade, "I will tell you, dead man, since you do not know. The answer is they hate Jaques Douveau, they are jealous of his skill and they know that he hates dead men, so they send him one after the other. The army, she likes her men alive, no? So it is Jaques Douveau that takes these dead men and teaches them how not to be dead."

The thin Deakin concluded his speech with another flashing smile. "That is why you are here."

"I suppose that advice could prove useful." Cyrus replied dryly.

"I should think so, dead man. Now," Douveau pushed himself from the wall, and glided into the center of the room as he spoke. He moved as lightly as Cyrus had ever seen a man move, and his every motion fluid and smooth. He turned abruptly in place and faced Cyrus again, his dark-colored eyes appraising the young soldier carefully. "we will find out why it was this dead man they sent to Jaques."

Cyrus stood calmly in place under the Deakin's scrutiny, his confident and self-assured nature visible in his stance and expression.

"This one is no giant, to move mountains with his strength. So what gift does this dead man bring to poor Jaques, hmm? Surely there must be something, else they would not have bothered the great Jaques Douveau. Ah, perhaps..." the mocking smile returned, but there was something beneath it's surface; a tone as hard and penetrating as steel.

"Tell me dead man, are you fast?"

[Cyrus Marius]

Cyrus reflected on his own abilities, thinking back to the other training he had recieved as a legion recruit. Like all soldiers bound for the ranks of the infantry, he had been taught the fundamentals of sword, spear and javelin, and the methods employed by those weapons were suited for regimented, rank and file combat. Never the less, Cyrus had proved to be an able combatant during the training, and his martial prowess was leading him in the direction of the foremost infantry soldiers the Empire had to offer; the Heavy Infantry.

Yet, Douveau was correct in his initial assessment of Cyrus' strength. While the soldier could break a man's arm with his bare hands or throw his spear over a hundred yards, he lacked the raw, brute strength of his larger peers. He was blessed with a superb sense of balance however, and his coordination was sharp as a razor. These traits had given him a gift for the footwork and movement aspect of his training, and while he might never be able to strike with the untamed power of a giant, Cyrus knew that he could get his blade where it needed to be.

"Yes sir," he finally replied, comming back to the dimly lit hall, "this recruit is fast."

The bald Deakin gave a bark of laughter, but he smiled and nodded all the same.

"That is good, dead man. I would hate to think they are wasting Jaques Douveau's time with clay not worth molding. Yet... I find the dead are often liars. There is only one way to find out for good and true, no? Go on, dead man, unsheath your blade and show me what you know."

The name 'dead man' was starting to grate on Cyrus' nerves, but a voice in his head told him that was exactly what the Jaedaxian fencer wanted. A combatant's psychological condition was as important, if not more so than his physical condition, and Cyrus would not give the annoying little man the satisfaction of knowing he had gotten under his skin.

Without another word, the young soldier drew his own wooden training sword from it's home in his black leather sheath. He then adopted the basic stance he had learned when using a single-handed sword without a shield or secondary weapon; body turned almost profile, feet shoulder-width apart with his right leg slightly leading, both legs relaxed at the knee and weight held primarily on the balls of his toes, with his right arm partially extended before him, blade straight and tip leveled before his eye-level. He held the position, allowing the Sword Deakin to critique his form.

Douveau tapped at his chin thoughtfully as his eyes scanned Cyrus' stance.

"You know what, dead man? You remind me of a marvelous statue I once saw in the lovely city of Diana. A fierce looking warrior he was, and blown over by the first hurricane to hit him. Loosen up, I am thinking. You control the stance, dead man, it does not control you. Adapt it so that it fits you like a glove."

Cyrus took a deep breath to loosen himself, and he relaxed all the muscles of his body while still maintaining the form. He let his body tell him the most natural way to stand, and he could already feel the control that the released tension was giving him. His center of gravity felt better placed to better allow for swift changes in direction, and his shoulders felt less rigid and better able to transition from side to side. He still maintained the basic stance, but now it seemed a more natural position for the soldier, one that came from within rather than being forced upon him.

The Sword Deakin nodded approvingly,

"Much better, dead man, I was afraid rigormortis was beginning to set in. Always remember that men are made of water, and your every action must flow as smooth and clear as a mountain stream. When you are liquid, nothing can stop you, for water flows over and around anything foolish enough to get in it's path."

Cyrus reflected on this, but suddenly the Deakin's voice rang through the hall, interupting his thoughts.

"Enough talk though, you could speak a spinstress' ear off, did you know that dead man? Jaques Douveau is here to fight, not listen to the prattle of corpses! Now, get ready dead man, because I am going to kill you all over again."

With one last flashing grin, the Deakin brought his sword up with a flourish and charged towards Cyrus' location.

[Cyrus Marius]

Cyrus could feel the urge to tense in response to the threat, but he willed himself to remain loose and natural. He waited half a second for Douveau to come into range, then he took a lunging half-step towards the charging Deakin and brought his sword up to block what ever strike was comming behind the charge.

Douveau shifted his direction at the last moment however, not bothering to meet Cyrus' sword with his own and instead darting into the soldier's blind left side. Cyrus swiftly tried to turn his head more so that he could see the fencing instructor, but Douveau had already bounced two rapid strikes off his left shoulder and knee and retreated beyond counter-strike reach. The wooden sword left stinging reminders of it's touch, but Douveau's control kept it from doing any true harm. Cyrus snarled in anger that the Deakin was taking advantage of his handicap, but he should've expected no less from the Jaedaxian.

"You are half-blind, did you know that, dead man?"

Cyrus scoffed angrily, "No, sir. Thank you for bringing it to my attention, sir."

The bald man smiled, but paid the sarcasm no mind.

"Obstacles are there to overcome, dead man. If a man never faced a hurdle, he would never know how high he could leap. Your other eye works, does it not? Worms have not eaten it yet, have they dead man? Learn to move your neck and head with your gaze, and learn to position your body so that your blind side is not so exposed, I am thinking."

Douveau advanced on Cyrus again as he finished speaking, although this time his movements were much slower and easier to follow. He came in from the left again, except this time he stood his ground and exchanged basic slash and parry with the young soldier, easing him into combat with his handicap. Soon however, Douveau began picking up the pace, slashing high and low, left and right, always keeping himself as far on Cyrus' blind side as he could. The young soldier's new approach to his stance allowed him the flexability to interpose his wooden blade between himself and the Deakin's, however the Deakin was still too fast and fluid for Cyrus to launch an offensive of his own.

Finally, as their wooden swords parted again with a solid crack, Douveau took a step back and appraised Cyrus once more. The Deakin was as poised as he had been upon Cyrus' entrance to the hall, without a drop of sweat or even a deep breath entering his countence.

"Well, it seems you are no liar, dead man. You might be blind, but you are not slow. Perhaps Jaques Douveau can teach you something afterall."

[Cyrus Marius]

"First, we'll elaborate on the basic attacks." Douveau dropped into his ready stance, prompting Cyrus to do likewise. "You already know the basics of horizontal, vertical and diagonal slashing, so we will expound on these first, I am thinking. Show me these strikes."

Cyrus demonstrated, slashing his wooden sword through the air at an imaginary opponent before him. He slashed horizontally first, bringing his sword from left to right then back again, next vertically, bringing it from a low held position up in an arc'ing uppercut then down again, and finally he slashed diagonally, making an 'X' shape in the air before him. He remembered the subtle nuances in gripping the weapon that allowed for maximum mobility and control, and combined with his new understanding of how to adapt his stances, everything seemed to flow much smoother and more naturally then it ever had before.

The Sword Deakin nodded approvingly, "Not bad, dead man, not bad. Your fingers are in the correct position, yet you grip the sword too tightly. Hold it like your true love's hand, gentle enough that you don't bruise her, but with no intention of ever letting go."

Cyrus' face darkened at that reference, but he focused instead on the Deakin's message and not his words. He could see how tense the muscles of his forearm were, and so he relaxed his fingers on the sword's hilt. He kept his thumb in place along the back of the grip, and applied pressure with the lower half of his hand to keep the sword in place against his palm. He tried an experimental swing, and though the weapon felt loose in his grip, the control he had over it was incredible.

"This feels too loose," Cyrus admitted, "What if I drop it?"

"The sword is a part of your arm, dead man. Can you drop your hand, or your elbow?"

Douveau raised his sword now, prepared to move onto the next lesson.

"Now, Jaques Douveau will show you the pinnacle of swordsmanship, the beauty that is the lunging thrust."

As he prepared to demonstrate however, Cyrus raised a hand to stop him. The man's entire demeanor screamed that he was a light fencer, not unlike the duelists who practiced the flashy style El Viatre. He even held his wooden training sword as if it were a copy of a light blade, rather than amorphous combination of long and broad sword that it more resembled.

"Sir, all due respect, but I won't be bringing a rapier onto the battlefield."

Douveau scoffed loudly and dramatically, "Nor would I place one in your rotten hands, dead man. The rapier is the queen of swords, and she has no place on your savage battlefield. That is the realm for her ugly cousin, the long sword, I am thinking. It is the swordsman, and not the sword that matters. Now, do not interrupt me again, and pay attention! It is this manuver that you will use to create many more dead men."

Cyrus watched as the fencer prepared to thrust. He assumed his basic stance, as loose and casual as the young solider had ever seen anyone in a guard position, and then Cyrus watched as Douveau made poetry out of motion. Without even the slightest indication of movement, the Sword Deakin swung his training sword to swat aside an imaginary blade, and in the same motion he rotated his shoulder and wrist and thrust forward, fluidly extending his arm fully and leaning precariously far forward on his right leg. He left leg was perfectly extended and the foot turned ninety degrees, and his left arm was held out behind him for balance. Cyrus had underestimated the man's reach before seeing the thrust in full extention, and yet even as the young soldier watched, Douveau launched three almost blindingly swift thrusts in the same lunge, all as smooth as silk, before gliding back into his guard position.

"Now," he said, turning back to Cyrus and smiling slightly at the look on his face, "your turn."

[Cyrus Marius]

Cyrus nodded and assumed the basic guard stance, making sure that his legs felt secure beneath him. He had been scrutinizing the Sword Deakin's movements carefully, but the more subtle aspects of the technique were difficult to percieve through Douveau's skill. He made it look too easy, as if it required no effort or thought on his part.

The young soldier paused for a deep breath, then performed the lunging thrust, trying to make his body as similar to the Deakin's as possible. He did not bother with the initial deflection of his opponent's defense, and instead concentrated on keeping his form correct, all the while maintaining the fluidity that he knew Douveau would be watching for. He leaned forward over his right knee, the powerful muscles of his leg easily absorbing his weight, and he extended his left leg fully behind him with his foot turned out for stability. His left arm was held out behind him for balance, as he had seen Douveau demonstrate, and he thrust forward swiftly from his right shoulder and elbow, driving the wooden tip of his sword through an imaginary heart.

Before he could retract himself however, Douveau's voice called out.

"Hold that position, dead man."

The thin, bald Deakin appraised Cyrus carefully, tapping his chin again in thought. Cyrus meanwhile held his position as best he could, though it was not the most comfortable pose that he had ever been forced to hold. The muscles of his right thigh and calf began to quiver from the strain, as did muscles of his extended sword arm. Never the less, he gritted his teeth and rigidly held his form for inspection.

Finally, the Sword Deakin nodded sharply, a slightly surprised look across his face.

"You learn fast, for a dead man. Raise your left arm slightly and center your hips so that they are better aligned over your legs, but that aside, I have seen worse."

Cyrus finally slackened, allowing himself to stand naturally and at ease for a moment. Douveau gave him half a second to rest his muscles, then prepared to continue with the next lesson.

"Now," he began, returning to his guard stance, "we will learn how to throw combinations. Even you, a one-eye'd dead man, could block my strikes earlier when I threw them one at a time. Against a true swordsman however, that will not do well at all, I am thinking. Come now, come now, get yourself into position, because Jaques Douveau will not repeat himself for dead men."

Cyrus quickly flexed the fingers of his sword hand, opening and closing them on the grip to loosen the stiffness in the muscles. He then assumed his familiar guard stance, and waited to see what the bald Deakin would do next.

[Cyrus Marius]

"Now, here comes the fun part for you, dead man." The Deakin's golden earrings jingled softly as he chuckled, "Attack me."

Cyrus could not contain the wolfish grin that crossed his visage.

"Yes, sir."

"A word of caution, dead man." Douveau said with a raised index finger, "You had better keep my sword busy blocking, because if she gets restless, she'll take it out on you."

The young soldier nodded, and advanced swiftly towards the Deakin. He was learning to take what Douveau said at face value, and if the man said attack, then he meant attack and do it fast. As soon as he was in range, Cyrus lashed out with an outside horizontal strike aimed at the Deakin's sword arm. Douveau parried the strike with ease, and flicked his wrist toward's Cyrus' forearm. The Deakin's blade whipped through the air and smacked the soldier's wrist solidly, causing Cyrus to growl in pain.

"One eye, now one hand? You are falling apart, dead man. I said to attack me, not to swing at me."

Glaring at the bald man, his lone azure eye flashing in the firelit hall, Cyrus snarled like a wolf and sprang into action. The bastard wanted a fight, did he? By the Gods, he would get one.

Cyrus allowed his aggression to decide the course of his attacks. He struck out first with a diagonal slash, comming down hard from the left. As the Deakin's sword blocked it, before he could throw a counter attack, Cyrus had swung another outside horizontal slash, demanding that Douveau block the strike instead of launching his own. Not pausing to give the wiry man a chance to retaliate, the young solider raised his arm and hammered down on the smaller man's raised guard, bringing the wooden blade of his sword straight down in three vicious and lightning fast slashes.

Douveau sprang backwards, but Cyrus was on him, matching the Deakin's footwork stride for stride. The natural feeling of his stance allowed Cyrus to move in response to his opponent with very little thought involved, countering each of the man's movements with his own. Douveau's expression never changed, but there was a level of focus and concentration present in his dark eyes that had been absent when he was toying with Cyrus earlier.

Cyrus strung together another wild combination, slashing diagonally doward from the right this time, and following up the parried blow with a second diagonal strike, now from the left, and finally he thust at the Deakin's throat with the extended lunge he had been taught. Douveau twisted like an eel to avoid the blow rather than deflect it, almost watching the wooden point of the sword shoot past his head, and he lashed out in a counter attack for the first time in this exchange. The blow easily caught Cyrus flush across his ribs, beneath his extended sword arm, and he winced as the pain lanced up his entire side.

Douveau had used that moment to retreat from sword range, and he held his hand up to keep Cyrus from advancing again.

"What ever you think, dead man, it was not Jaques Douveau that stole your crown purse, or what ever else it was that makes you so angry. Aggression is good, ferocity and passion, these are good also, but I am thinking you have too much of these traits, dead man. When you attack, it should all be part of a plan, leading your opponent to death and defeat through cunning and skill, rather than blind, brute force. Blind brutes can be beaten, is that not so, dead man?"

[Cyrus Marius]

Cyrus nodded, still wincing slightly at the throbbing in his ribs.

"Yes sir, I suppose they can."

Douveau nodded triumphantly, "You suppose right, dead man. Now come, attack me again, and this time use your brain for something other than feeding hungry insects."

Cyrus shook his head ruefully, wondering why in Telath he couldn't have a normal sword instructor, but he none the less advanced on the skinny Sword Deakin and commenced attacking once more. This time however, Douveau called out the strike he should throw after the one he initially chose to lead with. When he would slash down from the left, the Deakin would have him then come up from the right with a fluid follow up. The same went for all of the basic slashes, Cyrus throwing each one in turn and Douveau telling him which follow up worked best afterward. The two men continued in this fashion for well over a candlemark, until Douveau no longer needed to shout which strikes came next.

Then the two men changed roles, and it was Douveau now who was on the offensive for the next candlemark. The Sword Deakin threw only the combinations they had worked on, sequences that Cyrus knew and could expect, but the speed and accuracy with which he attacked was astonishing to the young soldier. Never the less, being fully focused on his defense, Cyrus managed to block or parry the vast majority of the Deakin's attacks, making the hall ring with the sound of wood on wood. With his sharp hand-eye coordination and fluid movements, he could transition between the spectrum of basic guards with impressive ease and skill for someone of his modest training.

Douveau seemed to notice this, and he pushed the pace of the fight right to the limit of Cyrus' abilities. Sweat trickled down Cyrus' brow as he moved the wooden sword back and forth and danced around the hall with the bald Deakin, but he never seemed to flag or waver. Cyrus thought he could sense a glimmer of approval in the Sword Deakin's dark eyes, but he was too preoccupied to give it much attention. The thought did inspire him in a way however, and it gave him a brash sort of confidence and courage.

Douveau's incomming slash was an inside horizontal slash, the follow up to his initial outside slash from the left. Cyrus moved his blade to block the blow, however at the last moment he leaned back and shifted his wrist and dropped the blade of his sword, letting the Deakin's blade whistle harmlessly before him, and he countered with a rising diagonal slash aimed at Douveau's chest. The Deakin quickly brought his sword around to block the blow, but he had been forced to take a hasty step backwards to avoid the strike first. He locked eyes with Cyrus and raised a bald eyebrow ridge, but the young soldier only returned the look with a small, fierce smile.

Douveau couldn't help but smile back, "What is this now, a dead man trying to pull a sneaky trick on the great Jaques Douveau? Mon Dieu, the brain must be the first thing to rot after death, poor devil. Never the less, kind Jaques Douveau will take pity on you, dead man, and share with you the next lesson, which you already attempted with all your corpse-like grace and skill. We shall now learn the Feint."

[Cyrus Marius]

Cyrus knew what a feint was in theory, but knowing something and putting it to use in combat were two very different things.

"First," the thin Deakin began, holding his sword at the ready, "you must learn to control every aspect of your strike, from it's root in your mind all the way until it makes a dead man out of your opponent. If you are in control of the strike, then you decide what it does or does not do. Remember this well, dead man, for it is vital to all aspects of swordsmanship, and not limited to feinting.

Now keep your lonely eye on me, dead man, and watch my movements."

Douveau advanced on Cyrus, swinging his wooden blade downward diagonally at Cyrus' left side. Nothing seemed different about this slash than the hundred that had preceeded it, so the young soldier raised his own blade in a high guard to block the descending strike. However, with just the slightest shifting of his shoulder, Douveau checked his blade's descent right before it made contact with Cyrus'. In that half a heartbeat, Cyrus saw that the initial strike was the feint and he tensed to move his blade in the direction the next strike would come from, however the Sword Deakin simply slashed downward again, this time from the elbow instead of the shoulder, aiming for just a bit below the target of his initial attack. Cyrus had moved his sword in anticipation for the follow up, and could not prevent the Deakin's sword from making solid contact on his upper bicep.

Strangely enough, Cyrus didn't feel the slightest bit annoyed that the fencing maestro had landed another blow on him. He was beginning to learn that every time he made a mistake, Douveau was there to show him how to correct it.

This time was no exception. "Why did you move your sword, dead man? Could you not see that mine was still in the same position?"

"I thought you would aim and strike elsewhere, sir. Why bother feinting if you are just going to attack with the same strike again?"

Douveau's eyes widened dramatically, "Why bother, he dares ask, when his zombie limb would be flopping most obscenely on the ground right now. You bother because it works, dead man. Let your opponent tell you where he is going to strike next, not your imagination. Now, you try."

Cyrus rolled his lone sapphire eye, and stifled the exhasperated sigh that threatened to break loose. Douveau seemed to have a strange appreciation for the lack of adherence to the rigid standards of military hierarchy, and he never batted an eye at Cyrus' flippant or sarcastic asides. So long as the young soldier learned his lessons well, the Sword Deakin was pleased.

Cyrus assumed his stance, bringing his sword to the ready and watching Douveau in front of him, thinking about his course of attack. Pushing hard off his left foot, Cyrus swiftly advanced towards the smaller Deakin, aiming a short, inside thrust at his midsection.

[Cyrus Marius]

Douveau backpeddled a step, and brought his sword in front of him to parry Cyrus' thrust. Just before Cyrus' arm was fully extended however, before the wooden blades made contact, Cyrus checked his thrust and redirected it lower, towards the Sword Deakin's lead thigh. Douveau immediately swung his blade down to swat the thrust aside, but he had to jump a half-step to his left to protect his leg.

Invigorated by his near success, Cyrus tried another attack. This time he swung doward diagonally from the left, and as Douveau raised his guard, Cyrus checked his swing again and slashed horizontally in a powerful backhand strike. The bald Sword Deakin expected the feint and easily interposed his sword between himself and Cyrus', however without missing a beat, Cyrus fluidly replied to the block with a second horizontal slash now comming from the outside, completing the left-right combination. Douveau's eyes widened slightly at the third strike, and though he brought his wooden blade up to block it in time, the manuver seemed reflexive and not a part of the Deakin's plans.

Cyrus smirked slightly, quite pleased with himself and expecting some sort of speech from the verbose fencing instructor, however Douveau had transformed into a whirlwind right before the young soldier's eyes. He glided right up into Cyrus' proximity and began throwing combinations the likes of which he had never before encountered. The thin Deakin threw his strikes with the speed and ferocity of a man gripped by blood lust and battle fever, yet his eyes belied the calm, cool mind that was entirely in control of his actions.

Cyrus all but ran from the seemingly posessed man, striding and springing backwards and desperately trying to keep his wooden sword between him and Douveau as much as he could. The Sword Deakin's eyes were pits of blackness in the dimly lit hall, and Cyrus could discern nothing of the man's intentions behind those dark mirrors. Distracted by watching his opponent, Cyrus backed up hard into one of the columns that lined the walls of the hall, causing him to grunt in surprise and lower his guard slightly. Douveau's sword instantly came whistling in, aimed directly at the young soldier's head. Cyrus swiftly ducked and heard the sound of wood striking granite with tremendous authority right above him, and it was all he could do to frantically bring his sword up in a high guard to block the Deakin's follow up slash, then scramble away as quick as he could.

Douveau was on him in a flash however, like a panther toying with it's prey. He hacked toward's Cyrus' head with two lightning fast diagonal slashes, and as the young soldier parried them off to the sides, he followed up with a lunging thrust that Cyrus barely turned aside in time with the flat of his own blade. The point shot past his shoulders, so close it nearly caught on the material of his tunic. Knowing that Douveau would attack all day if not forced to shift to defensive tactics, Cyrus tried to take advantage of the Deakin's lunging form, and he thrust viciously in return at the Sword Deakin's ribcage.

Douveau's sword was too far to block or parry the blow, so he instead sprang backwards, out of blade reach. However, now Cyrus was on the offensive, and he once again matched the Deakin stride for stride. The young soldier lashed out with an overhead left-right diagonal combination, and Douveau responded with a blinding up-down vertical figure eight. The sound of the wooden sword blades striking against each other echo'd loudly in the empty hall, almost like each solid block or parry was accented with a small crack of thunder.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of back and forth to Cyrus, Douveau parried one last blow and sprang back again, but did not return to his guarded stance. Cyrus was so caught up in the fight that he almost didn't notice, but he had maintained control of his aggression and temper the entire exchange, and he lowered his blade when he saw the Sword Deakin do the same.

Douveau had a smile on his face that stretched from ear to pierced ear, and it shown with genuine warmth and pride.

"Mon Dieu, is Jaques Douveau not the greatest swordsman you have ever met? Look, just look, at what he has been able to teach a dead man in one day!"

[Cyrus Marius]

Cyrus was breathing deeply, the fading adrenaline leaving him feeling fatigued, but he chuckled despite himself.

"Yes, sir. Truly, you are something else."

The Jaedaxian man bowed low with a jaunty flourish of his free arm, "Thank you, dead man, thank you. However, we have played enough for one day, I am thinking. The sunlight fades from the sky, and soon night will steal upon us once more. If I am remembering correctly, it is about this time that you and the rest of the herd out there are completing the day's last physical training excersizes, no? This is good, for you must be strong and fit to be a swordsman, so go, and work your pathetic dead muscles."

Had the brightening really come and gone so fast? Cyrus looked toward the narrow windows in the assemly hall, and could indeed see the orange and red light that heralded the sunset. It had only felt like a matter of candlemarks to the young soldier, but then he realized how much he had enjoyed the training, even the most frustrating or painful aspects of it. It was addictive, calling to something fierce and untamed in his blood, that only felt free and alive when allowed to indulge in the savagery of battle.

"Are we done then, sir?" Cyrus could not keep the slightly dissapointed note from creeping into his voice.

Douveau scoffed loudly again, "Does the painter leave his canvas half painted, or the sculptor leave his creation half formed? Of course not dead man, do not be foolish. I would sooner have not taught you anything at all then left you with partial lessons for you to bungle your way to the grave with, again! We are done only for this day, dead man, but I expect to see you in this hall by the 4th candlemark of tommorow. I have a surprise for you, I am thinking."

Douveau laughed lightly to himself, as if amused at a private joke. Cyrus didn't much like the look or sound of that at all, but there was no doubt that he would show up for the next round of training with the Sword Deakin. Though the man was an insufferably annoying creature, and Cyrus had indulged himself in several fantisies that involved ringing the bald man's scrawny neck, he was also the most skilled swordsman that the young soldier had ever come across. That he was willing to continue to privately tutor Cyrus in the art of the sword was an opportunity too valuable to sacrifice, and so Cyrus knew that he would learn all that he could from the fencing maestro.

"Yes sir," he replied "4th candlemark. I will be here, sir."

Douveau smiled again, his gold tooth shining in the dying light of the day.

"I bet you will be, dead man, I bet you will be."

[Cyrus Marius]

The next Brightening, 4th candlemark.

Cyrus gingerly pressed the door to the hall open this time, slowly leaning in and peering around into any possible place the wily Sword Deakin could be hiding. However, the diminutive bald man stood in an easy, casual position in the middle of the room, his wrist resting on the pommel of the wooden sword that slept in his battered leather sheath. Beside his feet, two more wooden swords lay stacked atop one another.

"What could so frighten a dead man? What, do you think someone hiding in the shadows for you? Come come now, Jaques Douveau does not like to wait when there is sword play to be had."

The young soldier grinned slightly, and slid inside the hall. The braziers had all been lit again, bathing the room in dancing orange light and causing shadows to dance and shift along the walls, but it was an atmosphere condusive to the deadly art they were practicing together.

Cyrus reached up and unclasped his cloak, then kicked it off to the side. He reached over and drew his wooden training sword from his sheath, then performed a formal bow to the Sword Deakin with a small smile on his face.

"Serale, sir."

"Enough talking from you, dead man. It is time to fight. Here," with an impressive display of coordination, Douveau hooked his foot under one of the wooden swords that lay on the ground, and he threw it lightly in Cyrus' direction. "catch."

Cyrus' azure orb followed the weapon as it sailed towards him, and he reached out with his left hand and snatched it from the air.

The Sword Deakin seemed pleased, "It is good that you caught that, dead man. You are not, by chance, gifted with the equal use of both hands?"

The young soldier shook his head, "No sir, my right arm is my dominant limb."

"Ah, quite the pity," the thin Deakin said with a mournful sigh and a shake of his bald head, "for you see, the great Jaques Douveau is gifted with the equal use of both hands, dead man. No matter; dead hands can learn, just like dead men. We start at the beginning first though, I am thinking. Tell me dead man, what do you think about using a weapon in your dead hand?"

Cyrus looked down at the wooden weapon the Sword Deakin had tossed him. It was not of equal size to the training swords that they had been using so far, it was smaller, and the blade profile was noticably different even upon first glace. Not so small as to be considered a long knife, the weapon's wooden blade was perhaps twenty inches in length, extremely thick at the base, and tapering to a dramatic tip. The smaller wooden sword had no real edge, indicating a predisposition to thrusting, and it had a partial wicker-weave basket that protected some of the soldier's left fist.

"I have only been trained in the use of a shield in my off hand, sir. However," Cyrus paused, thinking back to the previous day's training and how he had been able to block so many strikes with the single sword alone, "I am willing to see what is possible with a weapon in a shield's place."

Douveau's dark eyes flashed dangerously, and he smiled his wicked, mocking smile.

"Really, dead man?"